


A Kingdom by the Sea

by leave_hook_to_me



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, percy jackson - Fandom
Genre: Cinderella AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7839361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leave_hook_to_me/pseuds/leave_hook_to_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy Jackson is trapped. Trying to protect his late mothers hard-earned house, he lives under the harsh gaze of his stepfather, trying to find the resolve not to murder the man. Annabeth Chase is heir to the throne, and for as long as she can remember, she has been pruned and preened to perform just as her parents have - to maintain the royal tradition. But Annabeth has a vision. A utopian city for her people, designed by her own hands. Not that she would ever get the chance to put her plans into action. Until...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heart of Fury

     Percy Jackson swore he had begun to hear ghosts. Whispering between the walls, always hiding just around the corners. Whenever the floorboards would creak from some unknown pressure, he would listen hard for his late mother's voice. And allow the thought of it to both tear him apart and stitch him back together at once. For often times, he couldn't bring himself to look in the mirror, afraid to find nothing but a man half-dead, held together only by memories. Hunched over the fireplace, ash coated his fingers and freckled his wrists, stirring in him a longing for a dip in the river, or even better - a hot bath. But the sun had arisen, and the few hours he managed to slice for himself were now coming to another sickly end. The sun is notorious for casting long, awful shadows. And Percy's stepfather had to be the most awful shadow of them all. 

     Percy pulled a cloth from his belt loop and scrubbed it across his face, striding quickly to a nearby bucket of water to dunk his hand in and run it through his hair. His stepfathers footsteps had begun to descend the stairs, and Percy had already put breakfast on the table. His stepfather usually preferred him out of sight, but there was no time. It was either hide awkwardly behind the curtains or try to make himself presentable. Though he knew that in his stained, ragged clothes he was going to look like no more than a servant boy either way.

     When Gabriel Ugliano entered the room, Percy fought the urge to recoil, forcing his eyes down as he turned to scrub the mantelpiece for the second time since sunrise. "Good morning, sir."

     "Morning, Perseus. I see you managed to prepare breakfast on time, there must be a blue moon tonight." Gabriel cleared his throat, and Percy listened as the head chair scraped across the floor, and Gabriel placed his pale, prim arse onto the blue seat cushion, where his mother used to sit. He had stolen Sally Jackson's throne, and everyday it felt to Percy like a punch in the gut to watch him lounge around in it like the sleaze sack he was. That seat had been crafted for a queen, not a weasel.

     Gabriel snapped his fingers. "Come here my boy. I can't stand you lurking in the corners like that, you're not a louse, you're a man. And it's about time you start to act like one."

     Percy sucked in a breath and turned, shoving the rag back through his belt as she sauntered towards Gabriel. "I live in an attic sir. I think that makes me more of a rat than a man."

     Gabriel, dressed in a deep green surcoat and trousers, spread his hands over the ivory table cloth, flicking bread crumbs to the floor. The sunlight hit behind him like a weird halo. His mother's voice came to him again, speaking of angels and heaven, magic and fairy godmothers. And he could only think that Gabe was proof that for all his mother's tales of wonder, the truth was much meaner and uglier. "Eh...I'll give you that. But if you're going to remain living under my roof-"

     "It's my roof. It's my mothers roof."

     Gabriel's hand swept into the air and stopped, hovering over Percy's face like a whip. "Your mothers not here to stop me, boy, so I'll discipline you the best way I can."

     "Oh will you? I don't see you winding up to slap Alex and Drew square in the face."

     *CRACK*

     Percy's hands squared into fists and his left cheek stung, hot pinpricks spreading across his skin.

     Gabriel raised his pointer finger, nearly sticking it in Percy's nose. "Now listen. I'm trying to teach you how to make it in this world, poor and ugly as you are. First rule of that is don't interrupt your elders. Start acting like you've got some respect."

_I don't give respect unless I get it._

     His mother would fume if she knew. If there was a heaven, he knew she was up there now, stomping back and forth across a plush golden rug, hair blowing in a soft breeze and she watched her son steel himself against the beast she had left behind. She would be furious and hurt, screaming at Gabe for being so cruel, screaming at herself for leaving me behind with him. Percy sent up a few silent words like a prayer. 'Don't hate yourself mom, it's not your fault. This...this is my lot. I can handle this on my own. You just lay back and enjoy where you are.'

     Gabe nodded at Percy's silence. "Now that's better." And with a wave of his hand he brushed Percy back to the sidelines of his world. "Go make breakfast for the boys, they're headed for town today."

     Percy forced a nod. "As you wish."

     "And don't be so snarky, Perseus. You owe everything to me."

 


	2. The Architect's Room

      Annabeth stood in front of the long work table with the knuckle of her index finger trapped between her teeth. Before her, an array of blueprints and sketches were displayed across the pale wood, with rulers and pots of ink littering the edges. It was early in the morning and it had just begun to dawn on Annabeth that she hadn't slept at all, spending nearly the entire night pounding out sketches and calculating measurements for the refurbishing of the kingdom that, thanks to her parents, may never happen in the first place. But she couldn't help it - her daydreams were filled with images of shining new buildings, heralding a new era of peace and prosperity across the kingdom. 

      Her parents, of course, wanted to hear nothing of it. Tradition, they would say. Our people prefer tradition. The words always managed to twist in Annabeth's mind to something along the lines of "we will keep this kingdom in the dark ages for as long as we're alive, and if you want change you'll have to kill us for it." Annabeth snatched up a quill and crossed out a number, scribbling a new calculation onto a scrap sheet of parchment and adjusting the blueprints again, never satisfied. These buildings would be brought to life as soon as possible, if she had anything to do with it. But even on her way to becoming queen, there were voices at every turn trying to hold her down into the same mold that they shoved every last ruler into, as they did with her mother and father, who obliged without giving it a second thought.

     They called it tradition. Annabeth could only scoff. The word tradition was often used as a flimsy curtain to hide the truth of it all - a deadly fear of the future. 

      Only now did she stop for a moment, snapping back into reality to notice how high the sun really was. The morning light was still pale, setting a soft glow over the room. Annabeth kept her workspace minimal, the long wood table dominating in the center of the room, a couple of overflowing bookcases on the far wall. But the windows were large, and she liked all the natural light that came in, whether that be from the moon or the sun. 

     "Well where on earth is she?" Her father's voice was faint, though his words were legible even from down the hall and behind the double doors of Annabeth's work room, and it managed to shatter any illusion of peace that Annabeth had previously managed to maintain. 

     Her mother's voice came even louder, like the heralding of an army. "I don't know, but if she's not in here, I'm going to-"

     The door burst open, the brass handle slamming into the creamy wall behind it as her stepmother entered, yellow skirts billowing around her, bronze tiara glittering in the sunlight. "Annabeth, there you are. What are you doing in here? I told you I wanted you to be early for your lessons, and I also told you explicitly not to invite Master Castellan here for the fourth time this week, so explain to me why he's pacing back and forth in the small ballroom with a chest of swords and a suit of armor?"

     Annabeth sucked in a breath and dropped her quill, swiping the ink on her hands into a stray towel before shooting past her parents out into the hallway. She had completely forgotten about her morning battle lesson, for which her architecture fantasies were the only thing to blame. But after her love for design, sword fighting lessons with Luke came in at a decent second place. 


End file.
